


Of Porn and Blue Pills and Tiddlywinks

by Lenore



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alien Biology, Humor, M/M, Pon Farr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-28
Updated: 2011-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-23 04:11:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete's pornish windfall brings Clark some unhappy realizations, but luckily, there's Lex to the rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Porn and Blue Pills and Tiddlywinks

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea a long, long time ago, back when Clark was still an adorable puppy, and I never got around to writing it. Then today, I wanted to do something to celebrate the Super Bowl with porn, a la [](http://superpornsunday.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://superpornsunday.livejournal.com/)**superpornsunday** , which I would have signed up for if I'd been more on the ball, and so I thought: Clark's broken cock! And...here it is.

It wasn't the best thing that had ever happened to Pete—at least in Clark's opinion—finding his older brother's stash of porn gathering dust out in the garage, squirreled away behind some abandoned cans of paint and a long-forgotten stack of _National Geographic_ magazines. This was a view not shared by Pete, of course. For a good three weeks, the inherited porn was all he could talk about. _Hey, man, did I tell you there's a whole year's worth of Penthouse_ and _some of it's really artistic, you know_ and _I didn't even realize it was possible to be that double-jointed_ when they were supposed to be discussing the results of their latest chemistry experiment so they could write their lab report.

Smut had turned Pete into a one-dimensional kind of guy if you asked Clark, a perfect facsimile of the hormone-crazed teen boy favored in cautionary after-school specials. Clark couldn't believe it was normal that Pete's entire mental universe had been reduced to a single thought: _boobs_! Sometimes he and Clark would be walking down the hall, ostensibly talking about the Sharks' season or how unfair it was that Mr. Bradley kept springing pop quizzes on them, and all the while, Pete's gaze would be darting from girl to girl, staring intently, as if he were the one who could see through their sweaters. Even when Pete was saying something like "man, I can't believe we have to memorize the entire periodic table," Clark knew what he was really thinking.

Pete, on the other hand, seemed to think that Clark was the inexplicable one.

In the afternoon, they had study hall and sat together at a table tucked away in the corner of the library, Pete whispering about the more acrobatic feats in his favorite video _Sex and the Insatiable Girlz_ , while Clark puzzled over polynomial equations. Trigonometry had a tendency to make his eyes cross, so it took him a while to realize that Pete had stopped talking.

When he glanced up, Pete was staring.

"What?" Clark demanded.

"All you're thinking about right now is binomial expansion, isn't it?" Pete accused.

"I've got homework to do!"

Pete shook his head sadly.

" _What_?" Clark said again, more defensively.

Pete shrugged. "Hey, if that's how you want to spend your youth."

Sadly for Clark, Pete's despair over his hopeless geekdom didn't keep him from wanting to share his windfall. When he called on Saturday to invite Clark over to watch videos, Clark knew exactly what he meant— _boobs!_ —even before Pete got to the part where his parents would be gone to Metropolis all day and they'd have the house to themselves. Clark hung up and had no idea why he'd said yes. Maybe there really was something to that whole peer pressure thing.

When he got to the Ross' house, Pete opened the door before he even had time to knock.

"What took you so long?" Pete's voice was slurred, the way heroin addicts in made-for-TV movies always sounded right before they went out to score.

"I got here as fast as—"

Pete was already halfway down the hall. "You coming or what?"

Translation: _boobs!_

Clark sighed and closed the door and carefully wiped his feet on the mat. Pete was already sprawled on the sofa by the time he got to the living room, a death grip on the remote. He gestured impatiently for Clark to sit down.

"Okay, okay." Clark plopped onto the sofa beside him. "Satisfied?"

Pete grinned like a maniac. "I will be soon."

He pressed play on the remote, and the screen was suddenly filled with blondes, half-naked, cavorting, jiggling blondes, the kind of blondes who didn't exist in nature. Clark's first impulse was to put his hands over his eyes.

Pete apparently had no such compunction. He stared at the screen, his mouth hanging open like the worst kind of cliche. "Now that's what I'm talking about."

Clark sighed heavily. It was going to be a long afternoon, he could tell.

The blondes all seemed very friendly with one another, and then the lingerie began to fly off, and they were boobs _everywhere_ , and "friendly" got a whole new definition.

Clark's eyes went wide. "Are they—"

"Yeah," Pete said tersely. "Now sssh!"

Clark found it difficult to believe that real people in actual life—people he stood in line with at the Talon or passed on the sidewalk—did things like that, that they _sounded_ like that. _It has to be fake,_ he kept telling himself. Pete didn't seem bothered by the lack of realism. Every time one of the blondes let out a breathy little moan, her glossy strawberry lips pursed in a perfect circle, there was a hitch in his breathing. Clark kept his eyes straight ahead, because as embarrassing as it was to watch a bunch of cavorting women with heaving bosoms, it was even more embarrassing to see Pete enjoying it so much.

When Clark heard the telltale glide of a zipper, he bunched his hands anxiously into fists and thought very fervently, _Please let that be coming from the TV._ But there wasn't a stitch of clothing on anybody in the video, ergo nothing to unzip, and a moment later, there was a _noise_ beside him.

He leaped up from the sofa and glared at Pete, and, _okay_ , so that was a tactical error. Clark spun around so fast it was a wonder he didn't knock Mrs. Ross' pictures off the wall with some kind of super-powered breeze.

Pete laughed. "Oh, get over yourself, Clark. It has nothing to do with you. And you can't tell me you don't find this video hot."

Clark sputtered indignantly—because, well, he _didn't_ , not this…or anything else now that he was thinking about—and maybe he should have realized a long, long time ago what a _complete_ freak that made him. He muttered "later" and got the hell out of there, quite possibly leaving friction burns on the cornfields in his haste to get home and stew about his alien failings in private.

His mother was in the kitchen, whipping up a batch of muffins, and she frowned as he came through the door. "I thought you were spending the day at Pete's."

"Um. Well. You know—" He felt the heat rising in his cheeks, oh so inconveniently. "Something came up." Not him, of course, but that wasn't something he wanted to share with his mother.

He locked himself in the bathroom and pushed down his pants and stared at himself in the mirror. It just hung there. He thought about Lana, and those jiggling blondes in the video, and as an experiment, a one-eyed blob with tentacles, just in case his people's sexual tastes ran more toward cephalopods and he just wasn't aware of it. But it was still hanging there, so he tried touching himself. It didn't feel unpleasant, but that was pretty much all he could say about the experience.

He sighed heavily. Clearly, Pete wasn't the one with the problem. He was. Oh sure, it looked like a normal dick, but then he looked like a normal high school student. Obviously you could never put any stock in appearances. How was he even supposed to find out what was wrong with him? It wasn't like he could google "dysfunctional alien penis" and get the answer.

"Being an alien sucks," he said to his image in the mirror.

His dick continued to dangle there limply, as if in complete agreement.

* * *

There was one source of information on things Kryptonian available to him, not his favorite option, so he did his best to avoid it. But after a few days of contemplating a completely sex-free future, he finally gave in and went down to the storm cellar to talk to Jor-El. He'd been peevish and at loose ends ever since Clark had nixed his plan for world domination, and had taken to sulkily filling up the hours he'd intended to spend on planetary conquest playing tiddlywinks instead.

"Yes, Kal-El?" A wink went flying past Clark's head.

He'd become a little passive aggressive, too.

Clark took a breath and soldiered on, "I need to talk to you about something. It's important."

Jor-El crossed his arms over his chest. "I didn't think you were interested in anything I had to say."

"Well, I am now!" Clark's voice rose in exasperation. "I'm, uh—having this problem. Actually…the problem is that I'm not having—" He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of his crotch. "I'm pretty sure it's an alien thing."

Jor-El raised an eyebrow, even though Clark felt certain he understood.

"Fine. I can't get it up. I'm sixteen years old, and I've never even had a wet dream. That's just totally humiliating to say out loud. I hope you're happy."

Jor-El did seem to be enjoying himself. "Perhaps if you weren't trying to deny your destiny—"

Clark narrowed his eyes, as menacingly as he could manage.

Jor-El huffed, "Fine. Be a complete disappointment to me. You've never 'gotten it up' as you so quaintly put it, because you haven't gone through your _haumage_ yet."

"What's that?" Clark asked, no less bewildered than before.

Jor-El smiled meanly. "You'll know when the time comes."

He went back to his tiddlywinks without another word of explanation.

* * *

Maybe it would be more helpful to talk to someone who _didn't_ hate him, Clark decided. Of course, he couldn't go to his mother, because then he'd have to say the word "penis" in front of her. He was going to bring it up with his dad, but then he started to imagine the kind of wisdom his father was likely to spout, _what goes up must come down_ , or maybe that old saw, _a good man always rises to the occasion_.

In the end, Lex seemed the only real choice. He knew about things, and he had the best poker face Clark had ever seen. That was key, Clark figured, when you needed to talk about your dick.

He tracked Lex down at the mansion and was just fidgety enough that Lex raised an eyebrow. "So, Clark, something on your mind?"

Clark nodded and shuffled his feet and…folded like a cheap card table. "When you want to be with a girl, how do you do it?"

He sighed inwardly, but maybe he could still find out something useful if he pretended he was asking about girls and what got them hot.

Lex's mouth turned up into a little half smile of amusement. "Are we talking about Lana?"

Clark shook his head in frustration. "Just hypothetically."

"I know this may sound trite, but being yourself really is the best way to attract the right person, Clark."

"But what if I… _they_ need a little extra…help to get started? Isn't there something you can use to—" Clark trailed off.

Lex's expression went blank. "Clark, are you asking me how you can drug a girl so she'll want to have sex with you?"

Clark startled. "No!"

"Because if I've done or said anything to make you believe I'd condone—"

"You haven't! That wasn't what I meant! At all."

Lex looked decidedly unconvinced, and a little disappointed, and Clark blurted out in a panic, "I'm impotent."

It wasn't often that Clark saw anything like surprise on Lex's face, and it lingered for several long seconds. "Clark, I'm sure you're just overreacting," he said gently, having regained his composure at last. "Boys can have…issues with control. As you get more experienced, you'll develop more—"

"I haven't even gotten that far," Clark interrupted.

"Ah. Well. When you touch yourself—"

Clark shook his head.

Lex was frowning. "Clark, maybe this is something you need to discuss with your parents. They can take you to the doctor, make sure—"

"No!" Clark said desperately. "I can't tell them. They wouldn't understand, and they'd just worry."

"Okay, okay," Lex said. "But at least let me make an appointment for you with a urologist in Metropolis. Your parents won't have to know if you don't want them to."

Clark shook his head so vigorously it made him a little dizzy. "No, that's okay, Lex. Really. I don't need—"

"You _do_ ," Lex insisted. "At your age, this could be a symptom of a more serious problem. Are you taking any drugs? Have you had some kind of physical trauma to your—" He stopped abruptly, and then anger sparked in his eyes. "Oh, my God. The scarecrow. Did they do something to you? Did they hurt you, Clark? I always wondered what happened before I got there. You never talked about it."

Clark blushed, pleased with the concern, if not the direction the conversation was taking. "It wasn't—they didn't—it wasn't that. What I'm trying to say is, I've _never_ —"

Lex's eyes widened. "You've never had an erection?"

Clark ducked his head and nodded, his cheeks going even hotter.

Lex leaned forward, his tone very serious. "This could be a physiological problem, Clark. Are you circumcised?"

"I can't—" Clark mumbled.

"Because if you're not, it's possible that your foreskin is too tight. That's not a terribly uncommon problem. In fact, it was rumored that Peter III, Catherine the Great's husband—"

Clark sprang up from his chair, knocking it over. "My mom needs me to clean out the gutters!"

He ran from the house. Apparently, he couldn't handle talking about his penis with Lex, either.

* * *

There were some problems, Clark concluded, that a guy just had to handle on his own. Not a day went by that he didn't get some email spam touting the wonders of Viagra, and he "borrowed" his mother's credit card number and placed an order. He was already a little overwrought, and waiting for his very secret package to arrive made him a complete basket case. Every day, he would super speed home from school to check the mailbox before his parents did. Finally, there it was, a small box wrapped in plain brown paper. Clark hid it in his jacket, feeling as guilty as a drug smuggler as he stole up to his room.

Clark's parents cooperated nicely with his plans, what he liked to think of as "Operation Normal," by going off to Metropolis for the weekend. He waited over an hour, until he was sure they were really gone and not coming back, and then went out to the loft. He checked the label and took the recommended dosage and waited, and waited some more, and…nothing. So he took some more, and his penis was still just as disinterested as ever. He began cramming pills into his mouth in a panic, and the next thing he knew the bottle was empty.

He still didn't get hard, but he had found the answer to that very important question: is it possible for an alien to get high? Everything was all blue and swirly, and he lay limply on the sofa, watching the pretty, pretty patterns form and dissolve like the world had turned into a kaleidoscope. So he was still impotent. At least it was bothering him a lot less.

"Clark?"

He thought it was just a hallucination until Lex appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine, fine, I'm—" Clark broke off with a giggle.

He was _so_ much better than fine.

Lex knelt down and picked up the empty bottle, examining the label. "Did you take all of this?" His tone was sharp with concern. "I think I should take you to the hospital."

Clark shook his head. "It was nice of you to come check on me, though. You're a good friend." It was hard to focus with all the blue, swirly stuff going on, and he squinted, really trying, and that's when it hit him, very suddenly and very hard, like he was seeing Lex for the first time. "You look good."

He shifted his body restlessly, feeling too warm all at once.

Lex sat down beside him, brushed the hair off his forehead. "Clark, I really think—"

"You smell good, too," Clark said dreamily, and he pushed up on one elbow, pressed his face against Lex's neck, sniffing extravagantly. "Really, _really_ good."

Lex tensed. "Clark, you're not yourself—"

"I bet you even taste good." He ran his hands up and down Lex's arms, staring. "I bet—"

"Clark, stop it. You're _high_."

Clark swiped his tongue across Lex's cheek, and Lex made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

"Mmm. Yeah. So good," Clark murmured, and kept on licking, anywhere he could reach bare skin.

"Clark, we shouldn't—"

Lex's smell was deeper than it had been just moments before, and Clark suddenly knew what that meant. Lex was aroused. The realization was like an explosion going off in his body. He was so hot he was sweating everywhere. His eyes were watering, and his dick was instantly hard, painful, his jeans an agony. He flailed desperately at the zipper, but even after he managed to push down the tab, get his dick out, the sensation was still unbearable. He knew he shouldn't do this in front of Lex, but the need for release was too overwhelming, and he fumbled with his dick, not really sure what to do.

"Here." Lex sounded so far away. "Let me show you."

Lex's hand felt cool on top of his, guiding him, up and down and a little twist at the head. This was better, _much_ better in fact, but it still wasn't enough. Clark slid his hand out from under Lex's, direct contact at last, and Clark threw his head back and moaned.

Lex hesitated. "Is this what you want, Clark?"

Clark squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered, and Lex went back to stroking him, and Clark came all over them both.

"Wow. That was—" Clark grinned idiotically. It was as eloquent as he was going to get.

"Come on." Lex took him by the shoulders and pulled him up. "I can't leave you here alone."

"Where are we going?" Clark asked in a daze, as Lex helped him down the stairs.

"My house."

* * *

It wasn't a long drive to the mansion, and Lex had the convertible, so Clark knew it was wrong not to wait until they got there to start round two. He knew, but he didn't care. He put his hand on the joystick and mimicked the things Lex had done, but it didn't feel the same.

"Let me."

Lex reached over and fondled him, not taking his eyes off the road or bothering to peel off his leather driving glove, and Clark came instantly, and then again a few moments later. He canted his hips and pushed up into Lex's grip, and made a wildly frustrated noise, because it still, _still_ wasn't enough.

Lex turned the wheel sharply and pulled off to the side of the road, beneath a sheltering clump of trees.

"Please, Lex. Please." Clark was panting and begging, and he didn't even know for what, not in any great detail at least.

Luckily, Lex seemed to know just what to do. "I've got you, Clark."

He leaned down, and Clark's hands instinctively came up to cradle his head, and then Lex's mouth was on his cock, and the world was replaced by a bright scream of pleasure in his head. Lex moved up and down on him, and his tongue did tricky things, and Clark went off in his mouth.

"I'm sorry," he started to babble, because he really didn't know if that was allowed.

Lex pulled back and wiped his mouth. He was smiling, and then he was kissing Clark, and Clark was moaning and grabbing at him. He wanted _things_ , dirty, dirty, naked things.

"Soon," Lex said, a little out of breath. He threw the car into gear and stomped on the gas.

Lex's maniac driving not withstanding, the trip still took too long for Clark, and by the time they got to the mansion, he was jerking his cock desperately, chanting under his breath, "Naked, naked, naked…"

Lex hustled him inside, but Clark really was at the end of his rope, so Lex dropped to his knees and blew him, right there in the vestibule.

"Naked!" Clark still demanded afterwards, as Lex dragged him upstairs.

Alone in Lex's room at last, Clark celebrated their newfound privacy by ripping off his own clothes and then Lex's.

"God, Clark." Lex didn't sound like he minded in the least.

Clark rubbed himself all over Lex, and just the slide of skin against skin set off tremors inside him, aftershocks of pleasure. Lex's cock curved out from his belly, flushed and wet, and Clark smiled dopily as he groped it. Lex wanted him too. That was just…nothing had ever been better. He kissed Lex greedily, messily, couldn't seem to get enough of his taste. He kissed across his chest, licked his nipples, and sank down to his knees.

"You don't have to," Lex told him.

But Clark already was, trailing the tip of his tongue up Lex's length, stroking his hand over Lex's hip, closing his eyes against _heat_ and _bitter_ and _salt_ , because it was just so much. He reached for his own cock, and the first flutter of his fingers had him climaxing. When Lex came in his mouth, he went off again, in sympathy.

"You realize coming as much as you have is physically impossible," Lex said conversationally as he led Clark to bed.

Clark totally embraced the impossible, because, God, it was all just so _good_. They rubbed against each other, and sucked each other, and Lex put his fingers in some very interesting places. And still, it wasn't enough.

He must have said as much, because Lex gave him a long speculative look, and at last, "I know something else we can do."

Then he was moving away, and Clark reached out, to pull him back, make him stay, stay, never go, but apparently his super speed didn't work when he was addled or horny or…addled by horniness. He was trying to tell Lex that he hadn't meant it, that it _was_ enough—far more than he'd ever expected, to be honest—but it came out as slightly whiney babbling.

Lex returned soon enough, tube in hand, smiling at Clark. "I want to you to watch."

He squeezed something thick and shiny onto his fingers and reached behind himself and then he had his fingers in his own interesting places. Clark instinctively wrapped a hand around his cock, and it twitched eagerly, and he whimpered, "Please, Lex."

Lex leaned over and kissed Clark, once, twice, hard and fast. He crawled onto the bed and swung his leg over Clark's body. Clark brought his hands up to Lex's waist, and Lex sank down onto Clark's cock. Clark started to shake, and Lex started to move, and the shaking just got worse.

There was a part of Clark that wanted to move too, to push up into Lex's hot, tight, amazing body, but most of him was just too dazed, so he let Lex take care of them. When Lex came, that was it for Clark, all he could take, and as he went tumbling into the pleasurable dark, he was smiling. Because, finally, this was enough.

* * *

When he woke, the sun had advanced across the carpet. For a moment, he was almost afraid it might be _days_ later, but then he moved and bumped into something solid and warm. Lex yawned and settled his head emphatically on Clark's chest, and Clark curved his arms around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head.

"Lex." Just the word made him happy.

"Are you okay now?" Lex said against his skin.

It sent pleasure skittering all along Clark's nerves. "Yeah. I’m good." Understatement of the century.

Lex tilted his head to look at him. "That wasn't the drug."

Not a question, and Clark couldn't imagine lying anyway, not after what they'd done.

"Apparently that was my _haumage_. He said I'd know when it was time. He just didn't bother to mention that it was," Clark waved his hand, "some kind of sexual awakening that happens to my people."

Lex went still, and his expression sharpened, and Clark discovered that eternity exists in that moment when you're waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But then it just…didn't.

"I'm glad it was me," Lex said at last, settling his head back down on Clark's chest.

"Me too," Clark mumbled against his temple, grinning stupidly, happiness mixed with relief.

"Sometime I'd like to hear the rest of the story. About your people."

Clark stroked a hand over his back. "Okay."

"Of course," Lex said slyly, "there may be other things we need to do first."

Clark smiled. "I do have lost time to make up for."


End file.
